


infinite possibility

by Chisotahn



Series: feathers, black and blue [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Banter, Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, magically-assisted sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chisotahn/pseuds/Chisotahn
Summary: He’s a distraction. You know this.Agitation bubbles up, shoving at him from the inside out.We have a duty.The sense of urgency, of purpose unfulfilled, batters him like waves whipped by a storm. It would be so easy to let it pull him under again. So right.But he can’t stop thinking of Hawke. Of that kiss, sudden and desperate and sweeter than anything he’s felt in the past years, shocking him - actually him,Anders,not whatever they are most of the time - back into himself. Back into needing and wanting and being what Vengeance would call selfish, and he can’t stop fighting for that any more than he could give up on escaping the Circle, way back when.(Act 2, between the first kiss and the second, and a bit after.)
Relationships: Anders/Hawke (Dragon Age), Anders/Male Hawke
Series: feathers, black and blue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801549
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	infinite possibility

Anders is arguing with himself. Again.

He’s not really sure if his lips are moving for both of them, and honestly, he doesn’t care to know; physical things are disjointed, distressing, his skin hot and tight like it’s going to crack apart from the strain any minute. He might be pacing, maybe, in his tiny room in the back of the clinic, door baffled with extra blankets to keep the sound in so he doesn’t scare his patients. He made sure that was done and the door securely locked first, at least. He could probably be half-dead and he’d still do that part on sheer muscle memory. 

_ He’s a distraction. You know this. _ Agitation bubbles up, shoving at him from the inside out.  _ We have a duty. _ The sense of urgency, of purpose unfulfilled, batters him like waves whipped by a storm. It would be so easy to let it pull him under again. So right. 

But he can’t stop thinking of Hawke. Of that kiss, sudden and desperate and sweeter than anything he’s felt in the past years, shocking him - actually him,  _ Anders _ , not whatever they are most of the time - back into himself. Back into needing and  _ wanting _ and being what Vengeance would call selfish, and he can’t stop fighting for that any more than he could give up on escaping the Circle, way back when. 

“The whole  _ point _ is that it’s unjust for mages to be caged up, treated as less than people. That includes me,” he says, sharply. “Hawke is a friend - he supports us  _ and _ our cause, even without us asking him to. Look what we’ve accomplished with him!” Anders balls his hands into fists.

**_That_ ** _ is action.  _ **_This_ ** _ is pointless dalliance. Wasting time. It serves only yourself. Did you not swear, when we joined, that you were prepared to give all for a cause greater than yourself alone?  _

The memory is barbed, layered with others that flicker like flames. Running from the Circle, one last time; the bitter taste of the Joining chalice. A soft, purring warmth under his hands, filling him with a simple, sweet happiness. The templars, advancing, in an abandoned warehouse in Amaranthine; the Warden-Commander placing herself between him and their blades, striking the first blow in a move that temporarily stunned him, only for her to shout  _ a little help, here?  _ and galvanize him into action at last. 

Him, in a quiet forest clearing, talking with... with also-him, Justice-him, and for a moment Anders misses that keenly. Justice, his friend, not Justice, himself. 

_ You chose this path. We chose it. Together. _ A sense of brittle patience, like someone talking to a fool.  _ We cannot stray from it. We are a weapon of Justice. _

“What good is a broken weapon?” he shouts back.

Silence spills out between them, unexpected, and Anders sits down heavily on the edge of his sleeping cot, shakily uncurling his fingers; he’s bitten into his palms with his fingernails. “What. Good. Is a broken weapon,” he repeats, deliberately.

... Is he necessary?

Perhaps he isn’t. Perhaps he is a hindrance only. 

The logic is so strangely seductive that Anders finds himself nodding along with it until he realizes where it leads. “How long do you think you’ll last without me?” he demands, voice rising. “Oh, sure, you’ll go out in a blaze of glory, fallen templars laid out around you, pretty as you like - but you’ll be struck down within the hour-” He stops, considers. “Within a day, and they’ll refill their ranks and we’ll be  _ dead _ .” It’s honestly insulting that he has to explain this, lay it out for Vengeance as if they were a child. “A footnote to history, if that. One more abomination they had to put down. One more excuse to keep mages caged.  _ Well done, _ ” he finishes, acidly. 

_ Better that, than a pointless exercise that draws us away from our purpose- _

“That could have happened  _ today _ if it weren’t for Hawke,” Anders shouts, rising to his feet to pace again, throwing his agitation into movement. “We were about to kill that girl! An innocent! One of the very folk we’re trying to save - what would  _ that _ have done to us, I wonder?” The thought makes him feel sick, and he feels it bring Vengeance up short, too. “Because we were  _ that close _ to finding out.”

They are poised on the edge of a precipice. “We can have both. Him, and the justice we seek,” Anders says, still pushing. Hoping. “We are stronger with Hawke, and you know it.”  _ Don’t deny me this. Please.  _

They waver a moment longer, and then, abruptly, the sense of pressure vanishes, leaving Anders able to breathe for the first time since Hawke left the clinic earlier. The agitated energy drains away, and he wobbles on his feet for a moment. Should he thank Vengeance for this? Is that, too, an admission of weakness?

It doesn’t matter.

Anders lets out a long, shaky breath. His palms are stinging, his body slick with sweat as if he’s run all day without rest. He is  _ not _ showing up at Hawke Manor like this. Assuming Hawke is even there. There’s always the possibility that the other man took his warning, and that the door will be barred to him, now and forever. 

_ Not thinking about that right now. _ Anders summons up his magic and lets it flow over his hands, easing the ache in tired muscles, renewing torn skin. He’ll clean up, and he’ll go, and he’ll hope against hope that everything he just won wasn’t for nothing. 

\---

The climb up to Hightown feels more interminable than ever. Anders keeps his head low and walks with grim purpose, though he’s increasingly sure of what he’ll find. He warned Hawke, and Hawke isn’t a stupid man. 

But the manor’s windows are bright, and Anders startles a little as a curtain flutters in an upper window. A moment later, the door opens, framing Hawke with light, and something in Anders’ heart twists painfully. “You certainly took your time,” Hawke says, tilting his head inquisitively. “I was about to go out looking for you. Make sure you didn’t fall into a sewer or something.” 

Anders snorts, despite himself. “I know Darktown better than you ever will,  _ serah  _ Hawke.” He steps up to the threshold, hesitates. “May I?” 

“I could write out a signed invitation for you, though it seems a bit of a waste,” Hawke says, stepping back from the doorway. His smile is bright and warm and, Maker help him,  _ hopeful, _ and the few feet of space between them is abruptly far too much. “Come  _ in _ , Anders.” 

Anders does.

\---

They end up on the bed, gasping and desperate, Hawke roughly pushing Anders’ coat off his shoulders and pressing kisses up Anders’ neck, all heat and urgency and a little teeth. Anders is  _ hardly  _ a blushing virgin - quite the opposite, in fact - but it’s been a while since he last had someone, and he’s been hoping for  _ this _ , specifically, for a truly embarrassing amount of time. “Are there more rules we can break?” Hawke says, pulling back and giving Anders a look of sly anticipation. “Other than the whole mages-don’t-fall-in-love thing?”

It takes Anders a minute to catch up, but when he does, he laughs, shrugging his coat off the rest of the way and letting it fall to the floor. “Quite a few, but we’d have to get up to break them,” he informs Hawke, feeling almost dizzy. The combination of exultant joy and sheer relief is heady, and Hawke’s insouciant grin isn’t helping matters any. “Which I fully intend to do, but not quite yet. Not now.”

“Plenty of time for that later,” Hawke agrees, sitting up enough to shuck off his own finery, exposing an intriguing lattice of scars over his shoulders and torso. For a moment, absurdly, Anders is torn between feeling offended at how many there are - did he even see a healer? if so, what were they  _ doing? _ \- and wanting to put his mouth on absolutely all of them. 

The choice is easy. “Maker’s breath, no wonder you wanted me. You need a healer’s dedicated attention,” Anders mutters, bending down. Hawke laughs, then hums appreciatively as Anders presses kisses to his chest. Anders traces the scars with lips and tongue, then finds one of Hawke’s nipples with his teeth. Hawke groans, and the sound goes right to Anders’ cock. 

“Been thinking about this since...” Hawke interrupts himself with a quiet gasp as Anders nips again, a little harder this time. 

“Since?” Anders prompts, sweeping one hand down Hawke’s side, fascinated by the shiver the movement elicits. 

“... expecting me to  _ think _ when you’re doing that,” Hawke grouses, but he’s smiling. Anders rests one hand above Hawke’s belt, and is rewarded by Hawke twitching his hips upwards, needy, his swelling cock tenting the fabric of his trousers. “Not helping-”

_ “ Since? _ _”_ Anders insists, pulling his hand away, grinning mischievously at the resulting pout. “Out with it!” 

“Since.” Hawke has to visibly steady himself, to Anders’ amusement. “You and Isabela… you were talking, one day… something about electricity?” Hawke’s ears go red, but he doesn’t look away. “Couldn’t get  _ that _ out of my mind. Couldn’t get you out of my mind either…” 

“Ah, so it  _ is _ my magic you’re after,” Anders says, light, but Hawke abruptly grabs his hand, squeezing tightly. When Anders meets Hawke’s gaze again, the other man looks as serious as Anders has ever seen him. 

“It’s  _ you _ I’m after. The rest is... well, a bonus. A bonus I’m very interested in pursuing, make no mistake, but-” Hawke reaches out to trace his free hand down Anders’ cheek, and Anders automatically leans into the touch, shivering a bit at the scrape of Hawke’s thumb over his stubble. “If I just wanted to bed someone, I’d be at the Blooming Rose right now. But I’d much rather be here, with you.” 

Anders shudders, something inside him cracking apart. “I know,” he says, roughly, leaning forward to kiss Hawke, pressing his tongue into Hawke’s mouth. The kiss is no less desperate than their first, but this time Hawke is ready, meeting Anders’ urgency with his own. Hawke releases Anders’ hand and fumbles awkwardly at Anders’ belt, but Anders pushes him aside. “Let me,” he says, insistent, pressing Hawke back onto the mattress, bending forward to mouth at Hawke’s cock through the fabric of his trousers. Hawke groans at the touch, and Anders laughs, low, unbuckling Hawke’s belt, pulling Hawke’s trousers open, and  _ Maker _ the sight of his cock straining through his smallclothes, already damp at the tip… 

“ _ Anders, _ ” Hawke demands, arching towards him. “Don’t just admire it!” 

“But it’s extremely admirable,” Anders manages, then laughs at the look on Hawke’s face. “Impatient! You want me to show you mage secrets that much?”

“Yes!” Hawke reaches for his own cock, but Anders slaps his hand away, passing a spark of magic through his skin as they touch; Hawke makes a startled, aroused noise and settles back, eyes dark.

“That’s better,” Anders says, approvingly, bending to free Hawke from his smallclothes. Hawke gasps appreciatively, and Anders can feel the pounding of his heart in his own cock, needy, insistent - but there’s Hawke, laid out before him like a banquet, and there’s no need to rush. Anders trails one finger lazily up Hawke’s shaft, and it jumps under his touch. “So eager,” Anders murmurs, then laughs again as Hawke tries to arch into his hand. “It’s going to be like this, is it?”

“Like what?” Hawke manages, visibly trying not to writhe.

“You,  _ wanting, _ ” Anders replies, and his voice cracks on the word, betraying him. He scowls, and Hawke laughs, just for a moment.

“Anders,” he says then, gentle. “Haven’t I - haven’t  _ we _ waited long enough?” 

The words are so earnest, so open that Anders’ breath catches in his throat. “I… I suppose, when you put it like that,” he manages, and bends to take Hawke’s cock into his mouth. Hawke makes a strangled noise and falls back onto the mattress.

It’s been a while since he last serviced a man, but the movements come back to him easily enough. What he’s forgotten is how intoxicating it is with a new partner, where every lick and hint of sucking pressure elicit something he hadn’t known before, and he tucks everything he learns away like the treasure it is: the sound Hawke makes when he flattens his tongue against Hawke’s shaft, the touch to Hawke’s balls that makes Hawke fist his hand in Anders’ hair. Anders can’t take Hawke’s cock into his throat completely yet, but that will come in time - and what a thought  _ that _ is, to have time, to have someone who won’t leave and can’t be taken away- 

When Hawke starts thrusting up into Anders’ mouth, Anders pulls away, and Hawke makes a truly pathetic whimper. “I thought you wanted to know about the electricity,” Anders says, shutting Hawke up with astonishing speed. “Unless you’d prefer to wait, of course.”

“ _ Anders, _ ” Hawke practically whines, and Anders calls the magic into his fingers.

It is a simple trick, though it requires finesse; in his Circle days, many a foolhardy apprentice sent their hapless partner to him for a discreet bit of healing after their enthusiasm for the act outpaced their fine control. But healing, too, requires finesse, and Anders draws his hands gently over Hawke’s cock, making a loose fist around the shaft. Hawke’s whine dissolves into a long groan as the magic pulses, his hips thrusting helplessly into Anders’ hands.

“Just like that, love,” Anders breathes, stroking and squeezing, enraptured by the sight and sound of him, and  _ Maker _ but he wants to do this every day of his life; he feels the spirit within him huff at that, but thankfully no admonition comes. He bends to lick at the tip of Hawke’s cock, the magic tingling as it passes through him.

Hawke gasps and mumbles something incoherent; Anders grins to himself and makes the magic just a bit more intense. With a wrenching cry, Hawke arches and comes, the movement of his hips slowing until he shudders to a stop, looking absolutely dazed. Anders lets the magic fall away, and Hawke shivers. “Maker’s  _ breath, _ ” Hawke manages, after a moment, voice hoarse, and Anders feels a wave of overwhelming smugness before Hawke catches him unaware, the other man pressing a palm over Anders’ own erection, still tented in his trousers. 

Anders lets out a long, hissing breath and sways. “Hawke-”

“Come  _ here _ ,” Hawke insists, low, and Anders lets Hawke pull him close, fumbling at his own belt as he settles at Hawke’s side. Hawke shoves Anders’ pants and smallclothes down in a single motion, and Anders bites back a strangled sound as his erection is freed. For one crazed moment, he wants to do nothing more than rut helplessly against Hawke’s body, but Hawke works a hand between them. Anders arches into his fingers, letting his head fall back with a groan as Hawke circles his shaft in a fist, his hands nothing like a mage’s, callused from his daggers, the rough pad of Hawke’s thumb impossibly good as he flicks it over the tip of Anders’ cock. 

For three years, Anders has thought about this, first out of lazy convenience and later with a sort of despair, because why would it ever happen? But it has - it  _ is _ \- and that realization is as electric as the magic he’d used on Hawke, a graceless wonder shuddering through him, better than all his imaginings. 

Hawke tangles the fingers of his free hand in Anders’ hair and pulls, just enough to sting. The sensation makes Anders hiss in pleasure, his movements speeding up, pumping himself into Hawke’s fist. “Hawke,” he gasps, pressure building within him - and finally,  _ finally _ it isn’t something he has to choke back, suppress, control.

Anders comes with a desperate sound that fractures into incoherency, relief and release so intense that he nearly loses himself - loses himself in the  _ normal _ way, the way he used to, something he thought he could never have again. 

They stay pressed together, coming down, Hawke with one hand still tangled in Anders’ hair and Anders with one arm flung over Hawke’s chest. After a few blissful moments of silence, curled into each other, Hawke sighs with obvious satisfaction. “That was… very much worth the wait, I’ll admit.”

“Oh you will, will you?” Anders says, aiming for ‘dry’ and getting something closer to ‘adoring’ than he’d like to admit. “I’m glad to know I haven’t lost the knack of it.” 

“Not that I’d know either way.” Hawke huffs a laugh and nuzzles against the top of Anders’ head. “I’ll have to see how you improve with practice. Maybe a rating system?”

Anders shoves at his side ineffectually. “Don’t even think about it.” 

“Fair. It’s hard to imagine how that could be improved upon, admittedly,” Hawke says, voice husky. “Maker’s breath, but I love you. Have I said that? I was trying, earlier, but I think it got kind of mixed up with everything else.” 

Anders’ heart breaks, or fills up, or  _ something _ \- it’s hard to tell which, there’s so many things, so many feelings streaming through him right now. A little of both, perhaps, because Hawke doesn’t deserve to be tethered to someone like him, but Maker hear him, Anders wasn’t letting go. 

Not now, not after this. 

“You did,” he says, quietly, and Hawke chuckles and pulls him close.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the embodiment of that "lie down, try not to cry, cry a lot" meme right now. Wrecked by Bioware once again. 
> 
> Title is based off of a codex entry from the Mark of the Assassin DLC - "In uncertainty, find infinite possibility." 
> 
> Incidentally, I write a bit for my Warden too (the Warden-Commander Anders briefly mentions), and her story is over here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791985 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
